Binding the Shadows (Arcadia Bell #3)(43)

“I don’t feel guilty.”

“Could’ve fooled me. You didn’t kill Merrimoth. He did that himself.”

Dammit. Okay, maybe I did feel guilty, but it was so mixed up with a thousand other negative feelings—my creepy-ass dream about my mother, concern for Kar Yee, the stress of getting the bar fixed back up, the disappointment in losing Telly yesterday afternoon . . . the meeting I’d scheduled with Hajo later that night.

And Yvonne.

The Giovannis came back well after midnight from talking with Yvonne, and their pronouncement was that Yvonne was more lucid and humble than she’d been in years.

Good for her. Truly.

But you’ll have to excuse me if I wasn’t turning cartwheels and breaking out champagne.

Anyway, it just soured my already anxious mood. And how Lon’s empathic knack managed to hone in on “guilt over Merrimoth” inside my woebegone stew of emotional negativity was beyond me. I sighed dramatically.

Lon hit the button to set the alarm on the silver Audi. To be honest, I preferred his mud-spattered SUV with Jupe’s comics lining the floorboards. Or maybe it’s just that I hated the fact that every time I’d been a passenger inside the Audi, we were going to some event connected to the Hellfire Club.

“Chin up,” he said. “This won’t last long.”

One warm, strong hand wrapped around mine as he led me toward La Sirena All Souls, a sprawling Mission style stucco-and-cedar church surrounded by gently curving palm trees stretching above its terra cotta roof. My heels clicked against rough mosaic tiles that circled a star-shaped fountain in front of the entrance.

Lon wore a perfectly tailored black suit that revealed teasing outlines of hard muscle in his arms and thighs as he moved. I stole a glance up at him, all golden and chiseled, green eyes squinting into California sun, glinting honey hair that kissed the tops of his shoulders. He looked radiant and otherworldly, like a painting of some mythical demigod, crowned with his green and gold halo.

God, but he was a beautiful man. And he treated me like I was both a goddess and his equal. Every morning I woke up in his arms, like this morning—hallelujah!—I was grateful, because how lucky was I? He was a freaking catch.

And you know what? So was I. According to him, he saw something good in me the first time we’d met, but maybe I was just starting to realize it, too. It wasn’t that long ago I wrestled with insecurities about our age difference, but even though we liked to tease each other, our May-December scandal didn’t bother me.

Because now, as I glanced at a well-to-do woman in designer pumps and a haircut that probably cost more than my monthly car insurance payment, I thought, you know, why should I be intimidated? I mean, I looked pretty good. Owned a successful business. Had mad magical skills, as Jupe put it. And I was decent person. So why shouldn’t I have an awesome boyfriend with an awesome kid, not to mention a few friends who cared about me? And who the hell else did I know who’d been half as betrayed as I’d been by my own parents and managed to hold her head up and keep going? No one, that’s who.

And, dammit, even if I did bind David Merrimoth when he was jumping from his balcony, he was trying to kill us—for no good reason! Sure, I wish things hadn’t turned out like they did for him, but I did the best I could at the time.

Lon was right: I wasn’t a killer. Merrimoth’s death was not my fault. I was not turning into my crazy, bloodthirsty parents. I was just a girl trying to do the right thing in spite of very abnormal circumstances.

The hollows of Lon’s cheeks deepened when he smiled down at me. I tightened my hand around his and put all the bad stuff out of my mind.

We slowed our pace in front of the church. People mingled outside heavy wooden double-doors, chatting and smoking valrivia cigarettes. Lon shook a few hands and grunted at several Hellfire Club members, tilting his chin up in answer to people who waved from afar. The few brief conversations we had with other attendees all started out with “Such a shame about David” and “I just can’t believe he’s gone,” but quickly progressed to “Where are they serving lunch after the burial?” And these were Merrimoth’s peers.

The inside of the sanctuary was packed. We decided to forgo the pews and stand along the back wall. We weren’t the only ones. When a couple squeezed in next to us, Lon shifted me in front of him, pulling my back against his solid chest. I relaxed, grateful for the comfort his warm body provided. He ran his thumb down the side of my arm from my elbow to my wrist and up again, a slow, soothing stroke.

“You look nice,” he murmured in my ear, so low and close it tickled. I turned my head sideways, trapping his cheek with mine. He smelled really good, like clean laundry and soap . . . and like Lon—that same identifiable scent I caught yesterday when Telly was tearing the bridge down over us. I breathed him in, a small pleasure, as he whispered, “Wish we were dressed up for a restaurant instead of a funeral.”

“Me too,” I whispered back.

A few seconds passed, then he said, “Better yet, I wish we were alone.”

“Mmm?”

“Completely alone. No Jupe. No Mr. and Mrs. Holiday. No in-laws. What do you think?”

“Right now?” Funerals were turning out to be way better than I imagined.

“A vacation.”

“Oh?”

Sometimes communicating with Lon was like pulling teeth. But I’d learned if I stayed quiet, he’d eventually spit out what he was trying to say. So I didn’t answer. I just waited, watching people file into the crowded sanctuary.